The Savannah tribune. [volume] (Savannah [Ga.]) 1876-1960, 1887-06-25

and" she thought to herself. ''Well,
perhaps we shall. am putting myself
entirely in the hands of luck and
chance"
But when they reached the Morand
mansion, instead of ringing formally at
the front door, Miss Martell went around
to the back porch, a pretty little entrance
all shaded with honeysuckles and trum-
| pet vines.
q always go in here" said she, non
chalantly, in reply to Ethers remonstrat-
ing glance. "Sue Morand and I are just
like sisters"
Sue Morand, a blooming girl of
eighteen, was in the kitchen making
apple pies.
"The patterna OF course you shall
have it, she cried "Just wait minute
till get it."
'Pll go with you" said Sara. ETHEL,
you'll not mind waiting for us here2"
''Not in the least" said Ethel. And
she sat down by the window, where
ivies, trained in bottles of water, were
creeping like green jewels across the
crystal panes of glass.
"Sue2 Sue!' She started as the voice
of her preux chevalier of the evening
before came roaring down the back
stairs. "Confound you all down there,
why aren't my boots blacked2 Suel
Mother! Nell! What's become of my
breakfast! You must think a man has
nothing to do but to lie here and wait
all day for you lazy folks to stir
around"
There was no reply as he raused. ap-
parently expecting one. 'Mother" was
down in the garden under big green
sun-bonnet, gathering scarlet-cheeked
tomatoes for dinner. "Nelp' was in the
front yard picking red veined autumn
leaves out of the gold and russell drifts
that lay like treasures of precious stones
upon the grass.
Sue was shut up among the mysteries
of patterns" innumerable, with Miss
Sara Martell. Ethel Hunt sat coloring
and half frightened, the sole auditress of
Mr.. Morand's objurgations.
81 know there's some one down
there p he shouted. II can hear you
breathe and your dress rustic. Just like
your ugliness not to answer fellow! Do
you hear, Sue2 Black my boots, quick
Pm waiting for themW
And bang! bang! came the useful
articles of wear in question down the
winding stairway that led to the
kitchen.
Poor little Ethel! She half rose up,
then sat down again, piteously undecid-
ed what to do, and even while she hest
tated, with color varying like the red
and white of the American flag in high
wind, the door at the foot of the stairs
flew open and in stalked Mr.. Julian Mo-
rand, sallow and dishevelled, with I'M
kempt hair and beard, fretfully curved
mouth and most unbecoming costume of
Turkish dressing gown, faded pearl
colored neither garments and stockinged
feet thrust into red NOR Deco slippers.
81 say, you," he snarled out, "why
don't YOU"
And than perceiving to whom he was
actually addressing himself, he started
back, turning fiery red.
'Miss HuntW
And, with downward glance at his
toilet, he fairly turned and fed, the
skirts of his Turkish dressing gown
floating like red and orange meteors be-
hind him. And, mortified and terrified
though she was Ethel Hunt could not
resist the temptation to break into
peal of hearty laug liter.
This, then, was her ideal among man,
her "Sir Launcelot' of fancied perfec
ton snarling at his mother and sister ike
an ill conditioned bear, dinging old
boots down the stairs at them, tumbing
out. OF bed at o'clock IN the morning,
while his mother split kindlings and
picked tomatoes out in the vegetable
gardenl Like some Chinese idol so fell
Mr.. Julian Morand off his high pedestal
in the estimation Of Miss Ethel Hunt.
She told it all to Sara Martell when
they were safe at home.
"Aunt Sara" she said, ~ am thor